


The Work Can Wait

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Clothed Frottage, John asserts his dominance, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock's a whimpering baby, this is basically an excuse for me to write some sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very interesting case has Sherlock's attention for two weeks straight.  When put in a more compromising position, another part of his brain decides to kick in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Work Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for http://shezzatective.tumblr.com, because we just needed it.

The Work had never been so tedious before. The Work had never been the distraction. It was a peculiar thing that Sherlock Holmes hadn’t completely gotten used to yet.  But with John Watson… _Everything_ was a distraction when it wasn’t related to John. The Work was still important, and was still his driving force, but… so was John.

 

However, the case they were currently working was just _so fascinating_. Locked room murders, serial killer trend, and all so creative.  It was like Christmas.  Everyone around them seemed to be exhausted and frustrated over it all, and even John himself was getting that way (innocent people dying and all that), and Sherlock just couldn’t understand that mentality.  It was truly boring in their brains.  He was fascinated.  He adored it. They were getting closer.

 

He was tailing a suspect; one of the three Sherlock had narrowed it down to, with John close behind.  It was a dark night, and it was starting to get a bit damp with the oncoming threat of rain.  They had been slow and diligent up until moments ago, when the man caught sight of them, and broke out into a run.  Of course he would run.  Dull.

 

They chased him for blocks, until the man disappeared into a broken down warehouse.  They were currently crammed in a small alleyway, panting harshly, and they’d both worked up enough sweat that the moonlight glistened off their foreheads. Sherlock moved to run, but John reached out and snatched his wrist, tugging him close against the cool brick.

 

“Wait Sherlock,” the shorter man hissed, looking at him sternly. “Don’t you dare just go barging in there. We need to scope the place out. Stop being reckless.”

 

“Reckless is sometimes necessary to _catch_ the criminal, John,” Sherlock hissed back with a huff. He received a glare in return, telling him that his doctor was not going to back down on this. So, huffing again, Sherlock felt his shoulders slump as some of the adrenaline-induced tension slid out of him.

 

“Fine,” he muttered, turning his head to peer back towards the warehouse.

 

They both stood there, panting as they started to catch their breath, when Sherlock was suddenly very aware of the close proximity of their bodies.  This alerted the part of his brain he’d been ignoring for the past two weeks. This was the part of his brain that screamed everything John, and suddenly, The Work was falling to the back burner. Turning his head back, he stared down at John, who was still peering out of the alleyway, and just watched.

 

He watched as John’s chest heaved with each breath he took. He watched as John’s lips parted and he breathed through his mouth, and how his tongue would slip out to moisten his chapped lips.  He watched as a bead of sweat slid down the side of his face and neck.  Each moment that passed caused Sherlock to feel his resolve crumble, bit by bit, until finally he did something that only John could make him do: He shut his brain off.

 

It started simple enough.  Sherlock shifted his body, angling it more directly against John’s, but it wasn’t until his hands were reaching up and gently gripping the shorter man’s shoulders that he got his attention.  Blinking, John turned to stare up at him, brow furrowed in slight confusion.  Sherlock tilted his head, taking advantage of their new position and John’s tilted chin, and he ran his tongue along that tanned neck.  It tasted salty thanks to the sweat, and it smelled earthy and so very **John**.  Sherlock shivered as John let out a soft gasp.

 

“S-sherlock,” John said breathlessly, reaching out to grasp at the detective’s sides. “What are you…?”

 

“Two weeks, John,” Sherlock muttered against his neck, finding his pulse point and sucking.  John groaned. “Two weeks, and it has been torture.”

 

 “Says the one who was too distracted to- _ooohhh…._ ” John started to retort, but broke off into a moan as Sherlock rolled his hips forward, pressing against his body.  The friction that was created was light and teasing, and it was just enough to cause heat to pool in both men’s stomachs and make their cocks twitch in interest.

 

They were panting, but for a much different reason now. They fell silent, gripping at each other and rocking their hips forward.  It started slow and had a steady rhythm to it, but soon, both of them were incredibly turned on.  Through their trousers, they could feel the hard outline of each other’s erections, and adjusted their hips so that they were rubbing more directly against one another.

 

Sherlock whimpered, taking John’s earlobe in between his teeth and biting.  His movements were starting to become more erratic and needy, and he finally pulled back to crush their lips together.  John’s hands were up in his hair, gripping tightly, as they kissed messily and roughly, all tongue and teeth as John fought for dominance and Sherlock let him have it. John growled, tugging at Sherlock’s hair, and the taller man whimpered again.

 

“Please,” Sherlock groaned against John’s lips, his whole frame shaking as they rubbed against each other frantically. There wasn’t enough friction. He needed…

 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” John rumbled, making Sherlock shiver.  The way the older man started to adopt names when they were intimate together made Sherlock want to whimper all on its own.  The rational part of his brain would laugh at him.  Right now, he couldn’t give a shit.

 

“You,” Sherlock said weakly, hands gripping at the belt loops on John’s trousers, trying to pull him closer even though their bodies were already flush against one another.  It wasn’t enough.  It wouldn’t be enough.

 

Their positions shifted slightly, as much as they could in the cramped alley.  The cold, damp bricks were actually coming in handy, as John shoved Sherlock up against it and practically attacked his neck with kisses and bites. Sherlock had to control himself so he wouldn’t slam his head back against the hard surface, and he cried out breathlessly as he felt a warm, sure hand inside his trousers and wrapping around his erection.  He had no idea when John had gotten his fly undone, and it didn’t really matter, because he was being stroked and he could feel his eyes prickling with the threat of tears over the sensations rolling over him.

 

“J-john,” Sherlock groaned weakly, gripping tighter at him, his slender hands unable to keep still.  They were gripping his clothes, sliding underneath to feel smooth skin, going from his waist to shoulders to blonde hair and back. “John _please_.”

 

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John cursed under his breath. The doctor released his erection, which made Sherlock whimper almost pathetically at the loss. His ears picked up the sound of another set of trousers being undone, however, and he shivered as he realized what was about to happen.

 

John pressed up against Sherlock’s body again, and his hand was wrapping around them both now.  It took a bit of adjusting because of their height differences, but soon their cocks were lined up perfectly.  They began rocking their hips again, thrusting into John’s hand. His palm was slicked with sweat and pre-cum, and they rubbed together perfectly, and it was perfect and too much all at once.

 

Sherlock was whimpering and shaking and groaning, John’s pants coming out in short huffs against his neck. The feeling intensified, and his thrusts got rougher and more desperate, and he clutched at John’s jumper like the lifeline it had suddenly become.

 

“John, I’m…”

 

“Yes,” John growled. “That’s it, baby. Come for me.”

 

That did it.  That always did it.  Sherlock saw white as his orgasm crashed over him, and he cried out hoarsely as he tensed and spilled all over John’s hand and their clothes.

 

“Fuck, Sherlock, you’re so fucking beautiful,” John muttered, groaning himself and thrusting, stroking them both as he took Sherlock through his orgasm and brought his.  John tensed, his hand stuttering from its sure movement, and he bit down on Sherlock’s collarbone as his own orgasm finally hit.

 

Finally, they both stood, panting and shaking, clutching at each other.

 

“John…” Sherlock muttered, shaking. He was so sensitive, and he was being tucked back in his trousers, and the contact made him whimper. John did the same to himself, wiping his hand off on his jumper (because the damn thing needed a good wash anyway).

 

“That… was mad…” John panted, laughing breathlessly. Sherlock smirked widely, his head still spinning.

 

“You enjoyed it,” he countered, testing his wobbly legs and he tried to recover.  Before he could do anything else, John was grabbing him by the collar of his coat and tugging him into another deep, passionate kiss.

 

“Yes,” he said against Sherlock’s lips. “Always.”


End file.
